


The Will To Protect

by hakufuku



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakufuku/pseuds/hakufuku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dust settles on the battlefield after Yhwach’s demise. Only Ichigo and Orihime remain, the words they left unsaid hanging heavy in the air. They decide to get some of that weight off their shoulders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Will To Protect

**Author's Note:**

> A oneshot written for IchiHimeWeek2016 on tumblr, using the prompt "Acknowledgement". It's been a long time since I've written an IchiHime fic, and I originally had no intention of sharing this one on my AO3 account. However, after a surprisingly large and positive response to this fic, I've decided to share it here as well.
> 
> As always, comments & constructive criticisms are more than welcome!

The powerful clashing of opposing reiatsu in the distance had long since dissipated, and now they stood together as an eerie calm set over the crumbling ruins of The Soul King’s chamber. A passing breeze carried with it flecks of debris and the thick stench of blood and decay, lightly tossing stray strands of Orihime’s hair.

She felt as though she might collapse, her muscles exhausted and her spiritual power nearly depleted. Even so, she grit her teeth and made her way to Ichigo’s side. Each step felt like lead, heavy and arduous, but she persisted until she was right beside him.

She poised her hands, “Soten Ki-”

The incantation barely left her lips before Ichigo placed his hand over hers. They were rough and dry, with blood crusted on the knuckles and the shape of Zangetsu’s hilt worn into the palms. She looked at him wordlessly, leaving the silent question to hang heavy in the air. Rubble from the surrounding structures lay scattered before them, their final battle having carved a scar of destruction into the Soul King’s palace. He could see his horn laying discarded just a ways off; forgotten. The sun sank low into the horizon, and the shadows almost made the horn look black in color.

The observation, however innocuous, unnerved him to no end. He tore his hand away from hers, compelled by the desire to avoid tainting her with that dark power any further than he’d already done.

“S’fine.” he finally said, his eyes staring unfocused at the battlefield laid out before them.  


“It’s _not_.” she immediately insisted, “Please, let me heal you.”

Ichigo turned his head to look at her, to finally _see_ her. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs; as if Orihime, with her tangled mess of hair, her skin covered in bruises and sticky with sweat and flecked with blood, and her stained and torn battle dress were something to be in awe of. Even when she appeared so haggard and wild and battle-worn, and when the air around her was tainted with the sour odor of blood and decay, she would put his wellbeing before her own, just as she always had. And he, in turn, would continue to love her, just as he always had.

A few seconds passed before he found his voice to reply.  


“At least rest a bit beforehand,” he said, his brow furrowing in worry, “You look dead on your feet.”  


“I could say the same to you, Kurosaki-kun.” she said, finally smiling. It was small, fragile and lopsided, but genuine. And Ichigo couldn’t help but to return it, even if it were only to last for a fleeting moment.

He studied her face more closely, his eyes mapping out the gentle slope of her cheeks, the curve of her nose, her wide honey eyes, and her soft lips -which he belatedly realised were bleeding from a split down the center. Abandoning what little presence of mind he had left (blame it on the deadly combination of being a lovelorn fool weary from battle), he gently brushed his thumb along her lower lip, wiping away the blood.

He’d never seen Orihime flush so red, never seen her eyes so wide. She didn’t say a word, but her reaction was enough to make Ichigo feel self-conscious by proxy. He could feel heat rising to his own cheeks, and quickly withdrew his hand from where it wanted to be, as if the feel of Orihime’s soft skin had burned him.

Ichigo felt mortified, like he wanted to tear his eyes away, to run somewhere far away and bury his face in blankets and isolate himself far from the prying eyes of his father and sisters. Had he not been so overwhelmed with his embarrassment, he might actually laugh at how facing his feelings frightened him even more than facing off against men with powers that rivaled gods. It seemed like after all he’d been through, he was still just a kid in some ways, and he could take comfort in that, somehow.

But he couldn’t look away, he didn’t _want_ to look away from her. It felt as though they were standing at the end of all things, the only two left in the world. After all of the pain and the hurt and the constant fighting, Ichigo felt tired. Could he be blamed for wanting to revel in the fleeting calm at Orihime’s side for just a second longer?

“ _Why,_ ” he forced the words out through gritted teeth, inwardly cursing himself for the obvious emphasis, but his need to change the subject outweighed his embarrassment, “Why’d you come back for me, Inoue?”  


Another silence ensued. The tension in the air was so palpable that Ichigo felt he could taste it on his tongue were he to open his mouth again. But to save himself the further mortification, he remained tight-lipped, impatiently awaiting her response. He’d hoped she would take his lead, to not question his behavior, though he wouldn’t blame her if she did.

Orihime, on the other hand, stood silent, momentarily stunned by Ichigo’s gesture. Surely, he was just worried for her as usual, right? Just because his rough hands had been so gentle on her face -her _lips_ \- didn’t mean anything, right? The way his cheeks flushed a deep red that likely mirrored her own was just him being embarrassed because he’d done that to his friend, right? Orihime opened her mouth to speak, but the words refused to roll off her tongue. 

She felt her blush deepen under his unrelenting gaze, but found herself unable to look away. And then she realised she’d nearly been silent for a full minute, and willed herself to respond something, _anything_.

“Y-You asked for my help, remember?” she spluttered. At least she was coherent.  


“You know what I mean,” he pressed, his embarrassment ebbing, “I told you to go to somewhere safe, and yet you came back and put yourself in danger for my sake. _Why?_ ”

An almost frantic edge had crept into his tone, worry coloring his expression. Ichigo realised his hands had found her again, settling on either one of her shoulders as he implored her. A blush threatened to color his cheeks once more, but he persisted in spite of his embarrassment. Though he only meant to change the subject, to distract himself from his feelings, from the aftermath of the war and everything that followed, Ichigo found himself impatient to understand why Orihime didn’t listen to his plea for her to find safety. Why was it so important that she make it back the the battlefield?

It wasn’t as if he were ungrateful. On the contrary, Ichigo would’ve been dead without her help, that was for certain. The obvious answer was that he was her friend, of course she’d come back for him, but Ichigo couldn’t help but to think -to _hope_ \- there was something more to it than that.

They’d never been together on a battlefield before as a team, each playing a role in the fight. In the past, he’d always told her to stand back while he handled the fighting, and though they’d grown past that arrangement that hurt more than it helped, he was surprised she’d made a return. Ichigo supposed he thought they’d fall back into their pattern like old times.

It was foolish of him, really. This wasn’t the old times. And as hard as habits were to break, they both knew that. Ichigo was glad she didn’t listen to him, even if he told her to find safety out of fear for her wellbeing more than anything else.

“I made a promise.” Orihime said, then added, “Not to _you_ directly, though. It was more to myself than anything.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. He couldn’t help but to be curious when she gave him such an answer. It was vague, and slightly roundabout. He could tell she wasn’t being forthright, and it only made him want to dig a little more. He gave her an encouraging squeeze of her shoulders before reluctantly dropping his hands back to their place at his sides. They’d lingered long enough.  


Fortunately, Orihime didn’t seem to need much urging. In fact, it was almost as if she were relieved to speak. As if she were confessing some great secret she’d long kept hidden. 

“For so long... I thought that if I trained hard enough, I could stop you from getting hurt entirely.” she said, a slightly sad smile ghosting her lips. “It was a vain hope of mine, and it didn’t take me so long to figure out that I’ll _never_ be strong enough to keep that from happening.”

Ichigo could feel his heart breaking for her.

After what happened in Hueco Mundo and he lost his abilities, Ichigo had spent his time reflecting on his powerlessness. It was painful, to desire so badly to protect the people he cared for the most, but being too weak to do anything. It was a particular feeling of uselessness that he and Orihime had in common, though he could admit to himself that she suffered in silence far longer than he had.

“You’re so much stronger than me, Kurosaki-kun.” she said, and Ichigo noticed the way her voice caught and her brow furrowed. It was like she was concentrating with all her might not to cry.

“ _Inoue-_ ” he started, meaning to comfort her. Orihime shook her head, and Ichigo cut himself off to let her finish.  


“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to match your strength and keep you from putting yourself in harm’s way.” she looked at her feet, suddenly self conscious. Orihime immediately regretted her nervous habit of chewing on her lip, feeling the sting of her barely healed wound and the copper taste of blood on her tongue again.

 _It hurts a lot,_ she thought. It hurt so much, she had tears in her eyes. Orihime blinked them away, her hands balling into tiny fists at her sides as she steeled herself to keep talking. It was hard, admitting her weakness, and the depth of her feelings. But she was used to persisting in the face of struggle. Even when she was exhausted and every bone in her body ached, she would raise her head and persist.

 “As much as seeing your pain hurts me, I don’t want to come between you and that desire to protect the people around you. I could never try to take that away from you, especially when I see how deeply you hurt when you _don’t_ have that power.” she said.

She could feel her tears on her cheeks, feel the way her voice thickened with sadness. Orihime wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, Ichigo’s worrisome expression becoming blurred through her tears. She reminded herself not to be ashamed of her empathy. Even if she was a crying, hiccuping, battle-worn mess, she would never be embarrassed by her feelings for him.

“You’re inevitably going to get yourself hurt fighting for what you believe in, Kurosaki-kun. That’s just the kind of person you are. I finally figured out that I can’t stop that from happening.

“All I can do is heal you, over and over again. I’ll _always_ heal you. I'll repair your wounds in the middle of a fight, or when you sneak through my apartment window covered in wounds, or when you’re broken and bruised and bleeding; I’ll always heal you. In this world where you want to protect everyone you can hold in your arms, won’t you allow me to protect you?”  


Ichigo yearned to comfort her, to pull her into his arms and smooth her hair with his rough hands and kiss her forehead and hold her. 

And so he did. Laying his hand over her wrist, he gave it a gentle tug and pulled her into a gentle embrace. 

 _Screw embarrassment_ , he thought as he rested his cheek atop her head, holding her close. His cheeks flushed red when he felt her arms around his waist, her hands clutching the fabric of his shihakusho and holding on for dear life. Ichigo smiled to himself.

“Yeah.” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “Please. I want you to.”

“I _will_.” she said, squeezing tighter. She could feel her face heating up, but beyond that, she felt unbridled happiness warming her from the inside out, “Always.”

Ichigo tightened his arms around her, terrified she might disappear if he slackened his hold for even a second. They stayed like that for a while. Seconds, minutes, hours, it was hard to tell. Time seemed to fall to the wayside when he held her like this. Then again, he’d always felt like his time with her was always too short. As if he couldn’t get enough, as if he never wanted it to end.

Eventually he reluctantly pulled away, though just enough to see her face. Ichigo smiled down to to her softly, and Orihime returned it.

“You’re so strong, Inoue.” he said, “You’re so, so strong. I’m sorry I didn’t rely on you sooner.”

“Thank you, Kurosaki-kun.” Orihime said, smiling tearfully. Ichigo brushed her tears away with his thumb, his hand lingering to cradle her cheek. He leaned forward just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

“Thank _you_ , Inoue.”  



End file.
